


Risk

by exbex



Series: Eccentricities by Osmosis [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Body Image, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Mycroft, everything is politics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to "Bare" though can stand alone.

Mycroft isn’t jealous of John’s relationship with Sherlock. On the contrary, he noticed the importance of their friendship perhaps before anyone else, and has been keen to keep it carefully scaffolded.  
He is not, however, above testing John, as much as the thought fills him with consternation.  
Mycroft wouldn’t ask John to do the things that he does for Sherlock, won’t ask him to risk his life or his sanity on a constant basis, not for himself, though he has been tacitly asking John to do so for Sherlock, since the day they met.  
Still, he has to wonder if asking John to accompany him to a cocktail party isn’t asking far worse. Mycroft certainly has other, far more intriguing ideas of what to do with John Watson in a perfectly tailored grey suit. He distracts (or tortures) himself by observing John as he stands, perfecting the art of blending in, face revealing nothing of his underlying thoughts.  
The first night they’d met, Mycroft had derided John’s bravery as being tantamount to stupidity, partly to provoke him, and partly because he felt it to be true. Somewhere over the course of the next few years, in bits and pieces, Mycroft had come to amend his view. There is a soldier-like efficiency to John, most recently seen in the way that John acquiesced to Mycroft requesting his accompaniment to the ridiculous party, to Mycroft’s insistence on purchasing the suit. John had once impressed Mycroft by turning down the offer of money to report on Sherlock’s behavior and actions, and now Mycroft nurtures an appreciation for John’s patient understanding of just why and how Mycroft tacitly insists on taking care of him.  
But John, in spite of his compliance, is no one’s doll or mindless dog, a fact Mycroft is suitably reminded of as John makes his own claim, letting his hand fall to the small of Mycroft’s back, using the nickname that no one else would ever be allowed to get away with.  
**  
Mycroft is not above imbibing courage from a glass of Scotch. He is steely, but all men have some sort of defense system, a facade, and his just happens to consist of an umbrella, posture, and finely tailored layers. He’s been working with barely a stop for three weeks, and he’s desperate for John, but he sips slowly and watches the fire turn to embers.  
John is stretched out on the bed, in nothing but pants, hands propped behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles, eyes closed. He raises one eyelid when Mycroft enters the room and closes the door behind him.  
“Do you have any idea what you looked like tonight?” Mycroft asks as he removes the jacket and unbuttons his cuffs.  
“Like the good-looking one, for once,” John replies dryly.  
Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “For once?”  
“It was like looking in a mirror, watching your face.”  
Mycroft looks down, as if unknotting his tie requires more than the muscle memory of his fingers. John is frugal with his compliments, and Mycroft knows that it’s restraint. He envies the man, able to lie about so casually, trustingly, in next to nothing. There are instances in which cowardice is truly the lowest form of stupidity, and Mycroft abhors stupidity. Unfortunately, his disdain for vulnerability exists in equal measure.  
He runs the smooth silk of the tie through his fingers and makes a move before he can overthink it. If it works in chess and in government…  
“Would you blindfold me?” He’s looking directly at John once again.  
Let it never be said that John Watson can’t make deductions. The man is off of the bed and his hands are gently pulling the tie away from Mycroft. “You’ll use the safewords, if you need to?”  
Mycroft smiles indulgently. He’s nervous, but the only safe thing for him will be to remain with his eyes covered, and he allows his eyelids to fall closed as John carefully wraps the fabric around his head.  
“I’m going to unbutton your waistcoat and shirt now,” John’s fingers work nimbly and efficiently, and it’s far from appealing.  
“John, you sound and feel like a doctor right now.”  
“Sorry,” Mycroft imagines a sheepish grin on John’s face. “Bad habit, I guess.” His fingers suddenly slow down, and the only sound is the increase of his breathing rate. John finishes divesting Mycroft of his clothing, takes his hand and tugs, and Mycroft lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as John gently pushes him onto his back, into the mattress.  
He bites back a curse. He can feel his arousal in his rapidly hardening cock, but fervently wishes for it all to be over, yearning for a post-coital state in a darkened room. He mentally calculates the number of naked bodies John, as a soldier, doctor, and sexual partner, has likely seen, along with the number, both male and female, that would be superior in physical attractiveness to his own.  
“Stop thinking so much,” John whispers before placing a slow trail of kisses down Mycroft’s chest and abdomen. It normally wouldn’t be enough to break the train of thought, but the number of stimuli is staggering. Mycroft resists the urge to inhale, tighten the muscles; pathetically obvious.  
His breathing becomes more shallow, thoughts more scattered, as John takes him into his mouth and devises creative uses of his talented tongue.  
Mycroft scrabbles desperately for the illusion of control, raising his hips and burying his fingers in John’s hair. The smaller man merely reacts with more appreciative mouthing. John’s sexual submissiveness is frequent, if selective, and this contrast in one man’s personality keeps Mycroft from ever fully unlocking the mystery that is John Watson (and consequently, will ensure that he’s never bored). He doesn’t warn John of his orgasm, knowing that he’ll take it without complaint.  
Mycroft feels boneless and satisfied, but John nudges him affectionately. “Roll over, soldier.” Mycroft assumes he looks ridiculous raising his eyebrow over a blindfold, and he wants to balk at the loss of the upper hand, but he mentally declares it a tactical retreat and acquiesces.  
The lubricant is still cold as John slides his cock in between Mycroft’s thighs, but his mouth is warm as he trails kisses across Mycroft’s shoulders. Mycroft wants to use his safeword, wants to tear the blindfold off, wants John to stop, wants John to go forever. There’s too many directions, too many possibilities, too many risks.  
Pleasure finally overrides every thought, until John’s sigh signals his orgasm, and Mycroft feels a sense of triumph, as that is the sigh of Mycroft’s John, not Army John, or blindingly-loyal-to-Sherlock John, but his John, and that balances Mycroft’s weakness. They’re on even ground again.  
John cleans them up and switches off the light before he pulls the blindfold off and stretches out next to Mycroft. Mycroft allows himself a few moments to obsess. Conventional wisdom would declare it unhealthy, to view every move of the relationship in terms of war and politics. But then, they are equally matched, he and John, and John is a military man besides, and knows, must understand.  
Mycroft enjoys the feel of a possessive arm slung across his chest, of a slightly stubbled face on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, prepares to drift off, but is interrupted by the unexpected.  
“I really was intimidated, you know, the night we met.” Mycroft considers replying, wonders if he’d be giving away too much if he replied that he hadn’t known, but John continues: “Still am, actually.” There’s teasing, in that tone, and what Mycroft can’t help but read as a challenge.  
Even so, Mycroft considers surrender.


End file.
